Shave
by December Writing Dragon
Summary: In which Alfred makes a discovery regarding Ivan's facial hair, and a bet is made. RusAme oneshot.


Author's Notes: What did I just write.

 **Shave**

The subdued scrape of steel against stubble. Foamy cream being brushed aside. Skilled hands grazing calloused fingers against scarred flesh, handsome jawline, round chin.

America found himself quite transfixed, his own hand frozen in midair as his azure gaze caught sight of his boyfriend's actions. Russia's fair hair made the short cropping of hair speckled over his chin and above his lip hard to notice, but if an observer knew to look, they'd notice how quickly they grew back after being shaved. America was met with gentle scratched against his cheek as he had planted sloppy kisses against Ivan's face, down his neck, at the corner of each sparkling amethyst eye. The sensation elicited a giggle from the American and an amused smirk from Ivan. Alfred had then run tanned fingers up and down Ivan's jawline in hypnotic fascination.

"You just shaved this morning- how does that happen?" he asked.

Russia scratched distracted at his chin with a soft tsk. "It grows fast. It is such a hassle." He intercepted America's next question with a deep kiss.

But Alfred's fascination had not been satiated. There was something fascinating in the thin coating of coarse platinum hairs that poked their way through his boyfriend's fair flesh. But he only ever saw it at that point, never anything more…

Well, America would just have to amend that.

0o0o0

"Hey, Vanya, how about a friendly wager?" Alfred asked casually.

Ivan's eyes narrowed as he glanced up from his needlework. "Why?"

Alfred feigned a hurt look. "Just thought you'd be up for some friendly competition! We haven't done any bets in awhile. Thought you'd be up for a challenge."

"Challenge," Ivan echoed, still suspicious. "And what would be the terms?"

"Loser does anything the victor wants.," America explained quickly, eager to keep the momentum going. "One thing, not related to politics or military or anything like that. This is between Alfred and Ivan."

Ivan pursed his lips. Being presented with a challenge, there was no way he could back down. With a fierce look, he nodded solemnly. With a grin, America shook the hand offered to him.

0o0o0

"Alright, ready?" Alfred asked over the phone. Russia gave a curt "da" in confirmation, before their game began. In front of America a chessboard was displayed; he was playing the black pieces while Russia played white. _I could go for a white Russian_ America thought distractedly as he braced himself for what he was about to do.

Back in his home in Moscow, Russia peered intently at his screen, considering his options, channeling the knowledge and expertise of his many children who had gone on to master the subtle art of chess.

America had suggested for their challenge a game of online chess, where they could set up a private session and determine the winner of their little bet. Russia had agreed readily; chess was, after all, his specialty. Beating the American would be a quick business.

The game commenced. It was an intense affair, mostly because Ivan was thinking eight turns ahead. Alfred, meanwhile, made his move seconds after Ivan finished his. And he was actually doing _well_. Russia ground his teeth, struggling to regroup. He couldn't lose- he simply could not. It was impossible.

But somehow, beyond any range of human or immortal understanding… Ivan lost. He stared, dumbfounded, slouched back against his chair, at his screen, declaring him the loser of the game…and the bet.

America was whooping over the phone. "Looks like I win, big guy!"

" _Nyet_."

"Uh, I think you mean _da_ -"

"You listen to me, swine," Russia hissed into the phone, completely losing himself. "I do not lose at chess. I cannot lose, I have _never_ lost at chess, in over a thousand years I have never lose this game!"

"First time for everything, big guy," was his only answer. "Now, if we could discuss the terms of our arrangement?"

It took about ten more minutes of Ivan accepting defeat with no large amount of grace before America could make his demands. When he did, a stunned silence followed. It wasn't that Ivan had expected to be asked to do anything horrible, but he did not foresee being asked to do something so strange and specific. But a bet was a bet, and he was therefore obligated to.

0o0o0

Of course others noticed. When he saw Russia working on fulfilling his end of the bet, Moscow had looked elated, while Pyotr refused to talk to him, turning away with his nose scrunched in distaste. Ukraine had raised an amused yet curious eyebrow while Belarus insisted she would love him no matter what he did.

At last, it was time to meet up with America. He knocked on the door and had to only wait five seconds before Alfred answered. When he did, his blue eyes turned to saucers.

Ivan stood before him with a fully grown beard. A thick cropping of beige hairs covered his chin and lip, accentuating his cheekbones and further pronouncing his chin. Upon seeing Alfred's stunned reaction his lips turned upward in a satisfied smirk amidst the platinum strands. "Does this live up to your expectations?" he asked silky.

At a loss for words, America merely nodded and stretched out a hand, running his fingers against the hairs, which were both thick and oddly soft at the lower chin, but became thicker and harder as they shortened up the jawline. They rippled gently beneath his touch, contrasting pleasantly with his sun-kissed skin. The soft brown-gold tufts matched perfectly with the longer strands on his head and thick arches of his eyebrows. It complimented his snowy complexion perfectly. Slowly, deliberately, Alfred leaned up and pressed a slow tender kiss to Russia's hair-covered chin. This earned him a soft hum of contentment. Taking this as a sign to continue, Alfred proceeded to press quick pecks up and down Ivan's jaw, drawing pleasant shudders from the Slavic nation, whose hands ghosted up to rub tender circles into Alfred's shoulders. Just as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Russia's lips with the full intent of initiating a deep caress of the lips, Russia held his face between his hands, holding him in place. Looking right into his eyes, Russia asked, "How did you win?"

Alfred let out a breathy chuckle before looking somewhere over Ivan's shoulder guiltily. "I had a chess app open and set on hard while we played. I made each move you made on the app to see what the app did to counter it."

Ivan's eyes became narrow violet slits. "So you did cheat. Hah," he added softly in triumph.

"Well yeah, but-" America batted his eyes up at him, resting his clean shaven cheek against Russia's scratchy one. One hand came up to caress Ivan's cheek while the other ran it's fingers against his jaw. Alfred pressed several tender kisses against his cheek, up to just below the ear, and murmured smoothly "I'll make you glad I did."

Ivan feigned a look of deep contemplation before nodded solemnly. A shudder tore through him at Alfred's ministrations. "Yes, I do believe I may keep the beard for a bit, given…persuasion."

In the end, Alfred won twice.

THE END

Because who DOESN'T want to see Ivan with a beard? Alfred certainly does. And ever since seeing the stunning Beardtalia artwork by cidershark , I fell in love with Ivan all over again. *siiigh* Go check it out, they're amazing.

The OCs are Pavel and Pyotr, Moscow and St. Petersburg, making a reappearance from my other RusAme fic because I enjoy writing with them XD Moscow was only too happy to see Ivan possibly returning to his old practices; Piter kept his namesake's aversion. Shame shame, Vanya- Peter the Great would be rolling in his grave! This was all written on my phone spur of the moment, so I apologize for any mistakes!


End file.
